'Massa, de blessed Lord am callin' for de chile,—shall we pray?'
[pg 192]
The Colonel nodded assent, and we all, blacks and whites, knelt down on the floor, while the old preacher made a short, heart-touching prayer. It was a simple, humble acknowledgment of the dependence of the creature on the Creator,—of His right to give and to take away, and was uttered in a free, conversational tone, as if long communion with his Maker had placed the old negro on a footing of friendly familiarity with Him, and given the black slave the right to talk with the Deity as one man talks with another.
As we rose from our knees my host said to me, 'It is my duty to stay here, but I will not detain you. Jim will show you over the plantation. I will join you at the house when this is over.' The scene was a painful one, and I gladly availed myself of the Colonel's suggestion.
Mounting our horses, Jim and I rode off to the negro house where Scip was staying.
Scip was not at the cabin, and the old negro woman told us he had been away for several hours.
'Reckon he'll be 'way all day, sar,' said Jim, as we turned our horses to go.
'He ought to be resting against the ride of to-morrow. Where has he gone?'
'Dunno, sar, but reckon he'm gwine to fine Sam.'